“That is where we have an unfortunate lacuna in our hypothesis. I would have to do some research on what agents would produce those symptoms with such rapidity. But to continue, last we have motive.”
“And there we’re at a dead end,” Seth said. “Nobody had a motive.”
Christopher held up one finger. “That we are aware of. She may have led an entirely different life before she arrived in Granford. What of the husband, who is always the first suspect to consider?”
“As I said, he appears to have Alzheimer’s or something similar.”
“To your untrained eye, my dear. He may be a consummate actor. And even those poor souls in the grip of Alzheimer’s do have moments of clarity. If he had the poison at hand, he could have made use of it during one of those moments, then forgot entirely shortly afterward. In which case he may never remember what he’s done.”
“So now you’re back to suggesting that I destroyed possible evidence.”
“In the eyes of the law, you may have. Not with any malice, I assume, but the damage was done. Has this analysis been fruitful?”
“Not exactly.” Meg sighed. “Thank you for trying, though.”
“I’m always glad to assist,” Christopher said as he stood up. “I must get to the university, but thank you for the interesting diversion. I hope the killer is identified quickly. Let me know if anything significant is uncovered.”
“You too, Christopher,” Meg said, hugging him.
She and Seth watched as Christopher started his engine and headed out the driveway.
16
After seeing Christopher in the morning, Meg was surprised to recognize his car pulling into the driveway at the end of the day. She dried her hands at the sink then went to open the door for him.
“Twice in one day!” she greeted him. “To what do we owe this honor?”
He didn’t answer until Meg had closed the door behind him. “There was something nagging at me, after our meeting earlier today. Remind me, how many people sold apples at the WinterFare?”
“Around five, I think. Me, Ginny Morris, and a few others who had some, in addition to other fruits and vegetables. Do you want to sit down, have some coffee?”
“I’ll sit, but don’t worry about the coffee. And there were others who sold or served apple-based products such as jellies, am I correct?”
He took a seat on one side of the kitchen table, and Meg sat down across from him. “Yes, although I couldn’t tell you how many. I was pretty much tied to my own table. But this isn’t new information, is it? What does it have to do with anything?”
“Bear with me, my dear. The only person who became seriously ill after the event was Monica, correct?” Meg nodded, so Christopher continued, “We’ll dismiss the few children who did, and some other adults. The children, who all recovered quickly, were no doubt overexcited and ate too much and too quickly. The adults might have been suggestible and shared the symptoms, but none of those suffered any lasting effects.”
“Yes. What point are you trying to make?”
“The initial symptoms appeared to be those of an ordinary illness, as we discussed. Even in Monica’s case, she appeared to throw it off, for a short time. And then she sickened rapidly and died.”
“Christopher, you’re driving me crazy,” Meg said. “I assume you have a point, but you’re skating all around it. What’s the problem?”
He sighed. “I happened to be reading a recent journal article, and it led me to a footnote about one element discussed in the article. Are you at all familiar with colchicine?”
“I’ve heard the word, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered it personally. Why?”
“For many years, colchicine has been used to attempt to enhance plant growth, in a variety of manifestations—larger fruits, increased yield, disease resistance—although success has been mixed.”
“And has this been used on apples?” Meg was beginning to get an inkling of where he was heading, although she couldn’t figure out why.
“It has. Some tetraploid varieties of apples have been created, but they never achieved wide commercial distribution.”
“I’ve never heard of that, but I’m still pretty new to all of this. How is it delivered to the plant?”
“The colchicine is applied to the terminal bud of a branch, and all the cells in the branch when it develops will have additional chromosomes. Some of the early articles about this process are quite amusing, but those researchers carrying out the experiments were sincere in their efforts to find a way to enhance food supplies.”
Meg was beginning to get impatient with Christopher’s scholarly yet apparently aimless lecture. She wanted to get dinner started. “But basically, it never caught on?”
“That’s correct.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“Colchicine is extremely poisonous if consumed. And Monica’s symptoms follow the usual course of colchicine poisoning.”
A dozen questions popped up in Meg’s head, and she waited until she could sort them out before responding. “Why would anyone have colchicine? Where do you even find it?”
“Oddly enough, it was approved a few years ago by the Food and Drug Administration for use in treatment of a limited number of human illnesses. In other words, it’s commercially available. There are also some holistic practitioners who may use—or perhaps I might say misuse—it for non-approved purposes. It is available in tablet form. And let me add, it is also found in the plant generally called wild garlic, as well as in autumn crocus or meadow saffron. Grazing animals have been known to suffer fatal consequences from eating it. I should note that it is extremely bitter in flavor, so it would be difficult for a person to consume it accidentally in any quantity. Although most medicinal doses are rather small. It can be tricky to prescribe.”
“Okay, so it’s nasty stuff and I’ll do my best not to eat any, if I happen to find it. But what does this have to do with Monica’s death?”
“I may be overstepping my bounds, but I would like to ask Art Preston to request that Monica’s blood be tested for the presence of this substance.”
“Oh,” Meg said. She thought about that for a moment. “But how on earth would Monica have gotten hold of any? From what little we know about her, it seems unlikely that she could have known about it herself, much less found any.”
“That I cannot tell you. It is not something that a common household mold would produce as an undesirable by-product, so I doubt that you’d be implicated in any way for your kind efforts to clean up Monica’s kitchen. I cannot say whether Douglas could have obtained any, or how he might have administered it. Or if he would remember having done either, if indeed as you observed, his condition is so uncertain. I have no knowledge of any preexisting medical history for Monica, so I won’t speculate about how, and how quickly, the effects would have occurred.”
More and more it sounded to Meg that Christopher was trying not to say something. “Christopher, I’m still not sure I understand. You’re a respected scientist—you could have gone directly to Art, or even to Detective Marcus, and laid out what you just told me. Why are you talking to me at all?”
Christopher turned away from her, staring out of the window. “There is a reason that perhaps strikes closer to home for you. It involves Larry.”
He paused, leaving Meg even more confused. “What’s Larry got to do with Monica’s death? He didn’t know her. He didn’t attend the WinterFare.”
“I told you when I recommended him that Larry had been my student at the university, taking postgraduate courses. I even helped him to procure funding for that. He was then, and may be still, a bit rough around the edges, but he’s more than competent. While he was at Cornell he wrote an undergraduate thesis on the use of colchicine to enhance growth of certain plants, and at the university he continued those studies. He had a small research plot set
up on university land. It was a modest undertaking, but he designed his project well and carried it out scrupulously.”
“You were his advisor for that?” Meg asked.
“I was. And, if you will, his mentor. I believed in his fundamental abilities—and I still do. But you, and I presume law enforcement officials, need to know that he has direct, personal knowledge of the uses of colchicine, if in fact that is the substance that was given to Monica.”
“Ah.” Meg thought again. “But why would Larry have poisoned anyone? Much less someone he didn’t even know?”
“Now you see my dilemma, my dear. I believe Larry is a good scientist with no animus toward anyone, much less Monica. But he does know about colchicine. If I were to go to the authorities, they would make a single linear deduction: Larry knows this rather arcane drug colchicine, and presumably how to obtain it, if he doesn’t already possess a supply. Larry lives in the same town as Monica. And the police will take a pencil and connect those two dots. End of story.”
“Assuming that it was colchicine that killed Monica. Which we don’t know, and won’t until we get someone to test for it,” Meg pointed out.
“Precisely. Which is the reason I am attempting to tread lightly here. Will you agree with me that we need to ascertain that fact before we proceed?”
“In theory, yes. But even if you go to Art directly—and you could because he’s a friend—someone up the line is going to want to know why you are looking at this particular poison. The fact that Monica suffered from awful gastric symptoms in her last hours is not enough to ask a lab to test the blood of a possible murder victim.”
“I agree. I wish I could say I felt better for sharing my problem with you, but I fear I’ve only dragged you into a greater mess. But since you are nominally Larry’s employer, that would be inevitable in any case.”
“Is there some simple way we can test Monica’s blood? No, what am I saying? You and I, and even Art, can’t hope to get a sample, much less find a lab to test it for us. And even if we did, no doubt some lawyer would argue that we tampered with evidence and jeopardized an active murder investigation and probably even more stuff along those lines.”
“Exactly. So you can see why I was reluctant to voice my concerns,” Christopher said, looking relieved.
“But you’re right to voice them, if only to see that they’re dismissed,” Meg protested. “Do you have any suggestions about what to do now?”
Christopher shook his head. “I wouldn’t mention anything to Larry just yet. He would take it as a criticism or even an accusation and probably walk out on you, which would benefit neither himself nor the investigation.”
“I can understand that. So why don’t we talk to Art, off the record, and see what he recommends?” Poor Art, Meg thought—we don’t make life easy for him, do we?
“I would be grateful if you could do that, Meg. As you point out, I could approach him myself, but you have a closer relationship, and you’ve worked together in difficult situations in the past.”
“Let me give him a call now. Do you want to be here when I talk to him, or should I lay the groundwork first?”
“I will stay if you like, if only to explain the scientific side of the issue.”
Meg stood up. “Then I’ll try to catch him now.”
Meg retrieved her cell phone from her bag and walked into the dining room to call Art. When he answered, she asked, “You still at the office, or are you home?”
“And hello to you, too, Meg. I was just getting ready to head home. Is this urgent?”
“You mean, is someone bleeding to death? No. But Christopher Ramsdell is here, and he’s raised an issue about Monica’s death that we’d like to run by you. It shouldn’t take long.”
Art sighed. “All right. I’ll swing by on the way home. But if I’m late for dinner, you can explain it to my wife. I’ll be there in, oh, fifteen.”
“Thanks, Art.”
After they’d hung up, Meg went back to the kitchen, where Christopher was still sitting at the table, lost in thought. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. You do know that there’s not a lot he can do? He’s not officially involved in this investigation.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I merely want to get my concerns on the record, but I don’t want to see Larry dragged into this unless there’s good reason.”
“Fair enough. And you know Art will help if he can. Now do you want coffee?” Meg was beginning to wonder how long her supply of beans would last at the rate she was using them.
“Might I ask for a cup of tea?”
“Of course. I’ve just made a pot.”
Seth wandered in from his office at the back of the property and was startled to see Christopher in the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“Christopher has raised an interesting point about a possible cause for Monica’s death, and we thought we needed another opinion, so I called Art and asked him to come over so we could discuss it. Do you mind waiting until he arrives so we don’t have to repeat the whole explanation? He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“I can’t leave you alone for an hour without you getting into trouble, can I? Hello, Christopher.”
“Seth.” Christopher nodded to him. “I’m afraid I’m the guilty party here—I thought she needed to hear my concerns. Or perhaps I simply wanted a sympathetic ear while I tried to articulate them intelligently.”
Seth looked bewildered. “Then I guess I’ll wait until Art gets here, and you can fill us both in. Is there tea in that pot?”
“There is. Help yourself,” Meg told him.
Art arrived quickly, and Meg greeted him at the back door. “Thanks for coming, Art. Seth’s here, too, and he hasn’t heard any of this.” Meg realized she had no idea where Larry might be, but it was still too early to bring him in. “Tea? Or I could make coffee.”
Art surveyed the group in the kitchen. “Christopher, Seth. So you’ve got another problem to dump in my lap? What I’d really like is a glass of twelve-year-old Scotch, but I’m an officer of the law, so I’ll take tea.”
Meg filled a cup for him as he pulled up another chair to the table. When everyone had a cup in front of them, Meg joined the others. “Christopher, this is mainly your story. Please tell Art what you told me.”
And they listened while Christopher explained again.
17
Art listened carefully, and Meg and Seth didn’t interrupt Christopher’s explanation. Seth was hearing it for the first time, and Meg was glad of a chance to hear it again. She wanted to see if the theory seemed logical the second time around. Her quick judgment was that it stayed within the range of possible, although there were a lot of details that should be filled in.
When Christopher finished, Art rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s been a long time since high school biology class. Let me see if I’ve got this right. The colchicine you’re talking about is”—here he started ticking off points on his fingers—“used for agricultural purposes, including enhanced apple-growing, is readily available legally, and produces symptoms such as those that Monica showed before she died.” Christopher nodded his agreement, so Art went on. “This substance has more than one application, including some medicinal ones, but we don’t have medical histories for the people who got sick.”
“Monica was the only one affected, if you discount the greedy kids,” Meg pointed out. “It’s not like you have to check everyone who was at the fair.”
Art nodded. “All right. Now you lot are hoping that I can somehow finagle the state police into testing Monica’s blood for this pretty obscure substance that most people have never heard of?”
“I will concede that it’s somewhat improbable,” Christopher admitted. “But the symptoms do fit.”
“They also fit a lot of other things,” Art said, beginning to sound testy. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. But let me finish. Yo
u also don’t want me to explain to whichever authorities why I have reason to think that this stuff is what poisoned Monica because it might implicate someone you both know and apparently like, and you don’t want to get him into trouble?”
It did sound pretty ridiculous, Meg had to admit. “Art, we’re not trying to conceal anything. If Christopher were to talk to the authorities, which he is willing to do, no doubt someone will ask why he knows about this stuff and if it’s used at the university, and he would tell the truth, and ultimately that would point to Larry.”
“I would,” Christopher agreed. “I don’t want to raise any other issues unless it’s necessary.”
“Other issues being this Larry guy. Meg, I know how long you’ve known him, which isn’t exactly long, so I can’t give a lot of weight to your defense of him. Christopher, you’ve worked with him for a couple of years, right? You’re willing to stand up for him?”
“I am. He’s a hard worker and a good scientist. And I can’t believe that he would jeopardize all that he’s worked for by trying to kill someone.”
Seth spoke at last. “Which of course brings us around to motive. Christopher, you’re saying he has no motive—that you know of—to harm Monica or anybody else. Art, I know motive isn’t necessarily a legal criterion for this investigation, but everybody thinks about it. Why would Larry want to harm Monica? Why would anyone? Don’t police usually look to family and friends first for a suspect? Well, you and Meg are telling me that Monica’s husband is in no shape to plan and carry out murdering his wife, and they haven’t lived around here long enough to make any close friends—much less enemies. Are we supposed to go back through their entire history looking for a suspect?”
“If this is in fact murder, then the answer is yes. Of course Marcus and his pals would look at Douglas first—and would check his medical records, to see if any doctor has confirmed his current condition and he’s not just faking it. And if he’s really that out of it, then they’d have to expand their search. But we’re still stumped for a motive for anybody.”
A Late Frost Page 13
